Lifeline
by Parsat
Summary: Faith is in hiding, but something lies for her on the other side of the Mirror's Edge. New lifelines will be formed, and old ones revisited. Four chapters of stream of consciousness.
1. Faith

**I planned this story to fill the Mirror's Edge category that I requested. It's planned to be a three-chapter spontaneous write, so don't expect too much content. I thought that the storyline of Mirror's Edge was hampered greatly by the shortness of the game, and that it was very disjointed**.** I don't plan to do any big stories to cover that though, because really, the mystique of Faith's character and the unnerving mysteriousness of the city and its sterility is what gives the game its unique atmosphere. If anything, I have actually tried to imitate the style of Mirror's Edge by a story. Enough of my banter. Let's get on with the show.**

**Faith**

Faith woke up to find herself lying on a white bed, completely naked. For a second she was confused, but the memories of the previous night came back to her quickly. She was at her new place, in hiding as Public Enemy #1, in a room that had a pretty good view of the city below. Apparently an old lady was supposed to live here, but November had assured her that it was merely a facade they were using to fool the landlady.

She looked at the table next to the bed. On it was her makeup kit, with the pale makeup she used to hide her tattoos when she absolutely needed to go out, which was a rare occasion, seeing that Kate stopped by every week and a half to give her supplies from the underground. But it was difficult for a girl who had been running all her life, who loved the rush of the wind in her hair and the momentary feel of flying, to stay cooped up in an apartment until things got better, and by personal experience things never got better.

Last night she had been in a rather frivolous mood, using the makeup kit November gave her to get down to a rather dark bar. She might have come in by herself, but she came out with another man.

Faith sat up, holding the sheets up to her. She tried to summon the memories of what exactly had happened last night. Well, it was hot and sweaty. And there was lots of jerking and thrusting around. It felt sort of tingly, and it felt a little numb at the end, but it wasn't exactly the passionate scene you'd see in a James Bond movie or whatever. There must have been some kissing involved, because her mouth tasted a little like vodka.

_Here I am_, she thought, _hunted all over in this city, and I find that sex is overrated. Real great._ Her thoughts turned to other things…

Shit.

She rewound and replayed her memories of the past night, but nowhere in there did she remember birth control in any shape, size, or form being used.

_Shit, shit, shit!_

She had been expecting that this exile in a city she didn't belong in would be temporary, but now it had a very high chance of being an extended stay. Faith got out of bed, walking to the shower. Unlike her usual cold shower though, this time she waited for the water to start steaming before she entered. It was her first hot shower in a long time.

The steam and the warm jets of water felt very good on her skin. It tickled her slightly, and the warmth felt like it permeated every fiber of her being. She soaped herself down, as was her custom, then started to wash out her hair. It was only in the shower that nothing was on her mind; none of the horrors of the deaths or the betrayals she had seen or experienced could bother her. It was a feeling that she was slightly alien to; not even when she was running could she be free, for there was danger with every step, leap, and climb.

When she finally stepped out of the shower, Faith felt like a new woman. For the first time in a long time, she didn't feel dirty. She didn't feel guilty for everything that had happened in her life, where none of it was really her fault anyway. She felt like…herself again. She dressed, looking at herself in the mirror and admiring the tattoos under her eye and on her arm.

A knock on the door jolted her out of her mirror gazing. Kate was here, and she brought all of the troubles of the world back again.

_I just hope that I won't be staying here any longer_, thought Faith before she opened the door to her only lifeline.

* * *

**Again, it's really a spontaneous write, so I was influenced by the stream of consciousness narrative mode. Modernism somehow gets me again. I suppose it will have to be a necessary evil for a story in modern times.**


	2. Charity

**It's been a while since I last updated any story due to sudden business. Mercifully, my muse came and touched me with a sudden inspiration to update this, so I've been working in small daily increments for the past week to accommodate into my schedule. More stream of consciousness experimentation here. I hope you will enjoy this, as much as I have enjoyed writing this.

* * *

**

**Charity**

The city might have been corrupt, but it sure did know how to keep things clean.

That was the conclusion Faith finally came to after a day of watching the sterile landscape outside her window. Perhaps she had never really appreciated the fact; bullets had a habit of distracting from the beauty of the settings at hand.

It had been a while, though, since Faith had faced bullets of any sort. She had not gone out to run for quite a while, not since the baby slowed her down. Although she kept a relatively slim figure, Faith was clearly in a gravid state. Not even maternal instincts could have kept her from running after the plus sign. It took nausea with an intensity that made her feel she would never crawl again for her to stop.

Obviously Kate had been displeased. Perhaps the people running the underground were displeased as well. Why would a street smart girl like her get knocked up anyway?

Why not? Isn't that the usual order of things? You're born, you live, you beget life, and then you die. Pretty standard life for anyone.

Sleepily Faith gazed at the intersection between the blue sky and the white buildings, the mirror's edge that used to be her domain.

Then she saw it.

It was a fellow runner, dashing across the tops of the buildings. He was quite far away, but Faith's keen eyes made out his outline and his velocity and acceleration as he vaulted and rolled. For a moment she felt an unusual vicariousness, watching his little struggles. But the feeling of the moment terminated as quickly and as abruptly as it had begun.

Perhaps the baby had sensed it. It gave her a little kick, jolting her out of her reverie. It wasn't the first time she had felt a kick; the first flutter had come perhaps a week or two ago. But this kick had a certain vitality with it, as if the baby was actively empathizing with its mother. It was the emotion with which it kicked that led Faith to the conclusion that the baby was a little girl.

Faith wondered if she had understood her mother when she was young. Or did her unborn baby sister truly know what her mother was like? It had been so long ago…

* * *

"_Stay close, Faith."_

_It was a simple and firm command, one that her mother gave her just before every rally. The five year old had no intention of flouting the rule that had been given her, not yet the headstrong, no-rules-except-my-own woman she would become._

_The wind blew with a cooling whoosh through the autumn leaves, but despite this, the sky was clear. The sun shone with a negated heat. November was here, with its indifference and yet its fickleness._

_Faith hugged her mother, or more specifically, her unborn sister. She hugged her baby sister until Charity gave a reciprocal nudge showing that she understood._

_The plaza gradually began to fill with the people. They came from all walks of life: Some were children like her, there were mothers, fathers, but mostly lonesome types, it seemed. Banners were erected, signs were raised, calls for justice were heard. Faith watched her mother ascend the main podium with a certain pregnant grace and speak to the audience. _

_In the middle of the speech, the crowd suddenly began to agitate. Faith put her hand over her eyes, looking for the source of the sudden unease._

_The Blues were here._

_They marched down the boulevard into the plaza, with riot gear and shields, stopping right in front of the mass. There was a tense standoff as a loudspeaker blared across the place. It was a request for capitulation, to put it in nicer terms. More like a harsh cease-and-desist._

_The crowd did not back down though. Each person looked eye to eye, police to civilian, in silence. Then the crowd began to agitate once more, this time with a spasm seeming to originate from its very center._

_Perhaps it was meant to be a show of defiance, but to the police the meeting went from rally to mob. Despite the sheer volume of the cry of the people, the first shot was heard all too clearly. It immediately silenced every sound in the city, save for the bloodcurdling moan of the man who crumpled to the earth and lay still. _

_A short pause…and then all hell broke loose._

_Faith averted her eyes at the terrible sounds, burying herself into her mother's dress, when she felt a tug at her arm. Her mother was trying to run, although it was only a waddle in her gravid state. Frightened, Faith pulled her mother through the commotion, hearing her cries of great pain. Her mother had every mind to slow down but forced herself not to. They traveled for who knows how far in that maelstrom of people until the final moment._

"_Aah!" her mother cried, jerking back and falling in pain. A stray bullet had hit her._

"_Mom? Mom!"_

_Faith stopped, staring at her mother in shock, who used to be so strong but was now broken, utterly broken. Miraculously, the crowd swelled around the two, leaving them unhurt, but Faith was much too shocked to realize this. Everything had happened so quickly, and without any warning. How could she know anyway? So there Faith stood in open-mouthed terror, obeying her mother's command to the last._

_For a long time her mother lay, unmoving, but she finally stirred, looking up at her little girl with tears in her lives. Her life was ebbing away, and she could feel Charity dying within her as well. Steeling up all the strength left in her body, she issued the last command that would haunt Faith for the next fifteen years of her life._

"_Run, Faith. Run"_

_And Faith ran. She ran away from the bullets, from the mob, from her mother, from Charity. She ran until she could run no more, and yet her mother's last will and testament still clung to her just as Charity had clung to her mother.

* * *

_

Ever since her father left, since Kate joined the Blues, and since she met Merc, she had kept the words of her mother, suppressing all other memory of her but that. She had dedicated her whole life to run, and she couldn't help but feel strangely ashamed that she was only sitting and emptily reminiscing, not running and fulfilling her wishes.

The baby kicked again as a single tear ran down Faith's eye. What was the baby thinking? Was she trying again to empathize with her mother?

But the questions would not answer themselves today, nor tomorrow or the day after. And so Faith lay down, closing her eyes with a sudden fatigue.

"Where are you, Charity?"

From the depths of her slumber there was no answer.


	3. Hope

**Hope**

Time passed. Spring and summer faded away to be replaced by autumn. The only thing that changed with the seasons was the wind and the temperature; in the city nothing else really changed. Everything was still luminously white, or colorfully monotone. There was no real "fall," the whitewashed trees somehow retaining their leaves the whole year around.

But there were changes that were so subliminal that only those who were fully attune to the atmosphere of the city could sense it. Underneath their feet they could strange murmurs, strange agitations from the underground. They were as distant rumbles from the depths of the city.

Having lived all her life in the city, Faith was very sensitive to this change. Each day the city seemed to experience a little more turmoil. Although helicopters had not been uncommon, their increasing appearances became an ominous sign of trouble ahead. The Blues were also organizing; from her vantage point she started to see more and more heavily armed soldiers instead of regular policemen.

It was the first of November. Usually Faith would visit the graves of Mother and Charity during this month, but she knew she would be joining them too early if she chose to visit at this time. So there she was, confined. Somehow she had managed to survive nine months cooped up.

She opened a window now and let the breeze roll in. Surveillance be damned, she wanted some fresh air. To her surprise the breeze was not cold and foreboding as she had expected or remembered. Perhaps she had never stopped to feel the air, only felt it in its motion, numbing her limbs when she ran a long time ago.

Her baby was kicking too. As the term progressed it started to kick noticeably harder, even shifting around sometimes. Faith took this to mean that she was growing healthily. Faith was sure it was a girl; she had numerous dreams to that effect. But in none of these dreams nor in her conscious thoughts could she think of a proper name for the child. All the names were either too capricious or too pretty.

At this point she felt a rather forceful kick, as if it was an alert of some kind. Sure enough, she could see a fast, dark figure running past the skyline. She had seen him quite a few times at her window, but this time his gait seemed much more hurried, his motions much more tense. The door he had exited from violently gave way to several blue figures, each holding some firearm.

That particular building, as Faith remembered it, did not have any ramps on it. Perhaps the runner forgot in his panic, but whatever the reason he soon stopped and looked hopelessly down the chasm. Death was approaching on both sides. He turned around and put his hands in the air in an act of surrender, and they forced him on his knees, gun to his head.

What happened next was a blur. The blue leveling his gun at the runner suddenly stumbled, arms flailing, trying to keep balance but unable to as he plummeted over the edge. The man got up, grabbed one of the Blues and proceeded to execute a shoulder throw, tossing him over the edge. Soon all of them were dead, whether by their own guns or by the force of gravity.

It was at this point that Faith could see a second figure, slimmer, with flaxen hair, who had been his rescuer. They embraced, seeming to bring their faces close to each other, and as they released from the embrace they ran in a carefree manner, the male closest to the edge and the woman to his side. And as they ran, in Faith's eyes, their figures seemed to mold together and synchronize, as if they were of one flesh, a single body moving in harmony, disappearing with a step, a clamber, and a hop from Faith's visible world.

She was left staring at an overcast sky, wondering if that world would ever become hers to live in. Something about it left her with a decidedly mixed feeling: envy, nervousness, empathy…and yet one thought seemed to dominate her mind.

Her child shifted again, and she knew that this was a sign.

There was still faith in this world. There was still charity in this world.

Hope Connors had told her that.

* * *

**Apparently this is the first chaptered story I have ever finished. Lazy...looking back it's sort of interesting how I had a bit of a "Dickens-ian" shift in my prose writing.  
**

**I planned to have a second part to this, but I decided it didn't fit with the theme. If I feel like it, I may post it, but for now this is complete.  
**


	4. Longsuffering

**This was the original ending I had in mind for the story before I decided to discard it. However, I kept it saved up in my files, and one day, out of a whim, I decided to open it up. I found that there was still something worth saving in it, so I decided that I would bring it into the story as the final chapter. Enjoy.**

**Longsuffering**

The rumble of thunder shook the windowpanes. A heavy rain was falling, and Faith loved it. Now that she was the observer and not the runner, she watched as the monotone colors seemed to glaze and as the white buildings slowly turned gray with damp. Lightning flickered here and there, almost lazily.

It was December, the rainy season, when even the forces of nature and its weather could overcome the weather-stabilizer machines they had erected in the middle of the city. It was always a sign of hope, that the primal could beat the machine.

At the same time, Faith was tense. December was the twelfth month, but for her it was the ninth. Her belly was full now, and she was out of shape as she had ever been, with her swollen feet and legs, and her inflexible back. She had almost forgotten what it was like to run. And now with the rolling thunder, she felt as if each tremor would unseat her baby.

But those runners…the agitation of the city was at a peak. Not only had police forces increased in number, but the runners had as well. These runners were no longer for hire. They were out to make things right, working instead to earn back the blood of those who had lost it. And though she was no longer in the loop for her own safety, she could tell that the day of reckoning was at hand.

There was a runner running in the distance, but it took all the runner vision she could muster to see his outline. She remembered dreading deliveries in the rain, because everything was so slippery. It became almost impossible to clamber up metal, and the risk of slippage was so great that it was the only time she had feared death. But there he was, this runner. It was the same one she saw so long ago.

* * *

_It is the day of revolution…finally the end of the old and the start of the new. How long have we worked for this, training and spying and undermining. This good race is about to come to a close, and we will put on the final sprint._

_This is my most important running mission of all the ones I have ever done, as one of the pathfinders. It is our duty to place the beacons for the helicopters so that they will know where to land troops. No one is to stand in our way. We have planned this for the rainiest day of the year, where our approach would be hidden and their power at its lowest. We knew the danger, but we were not afraid._

_The Blues are on the next building, just a hop, skip, jump, and roll away. They are the enemy. For once I, Corin, shall not kill in self-defense, but for the defense of those who have suffered long. _

_There are three of them. They do not hear me. As I hit the ramp with all my momentum, one of them seems to spot me, and the other two with their backs towards me turn. Everything is slowing…I roll in slow-motion, I draw my weapon in slow-motion, I watch their blood spill from their wounds in slow-motion. A living sacrifice.

* * *

_

Faith saw the man take the leap straight into the building where the Blues were, saw him roll as smoothly as any Runner could, shooting the ambushed Blues. It was finally here. There would be victory. Then a sharp pain and a spasm. Faith gasped, her legs buckling. It was the day of reckoning.

She quickly fell backwards onto the bed, and pulled a towel set aside on a nearby chair. She had prepared for this, known that it would come when she was least aware, as it always had. The pain was enormous. She had felt the cramps beforehand, but here it was, labor in full swing.

The first waves had just subsided, and she panted a bit, readying herself. Then it came again, rolling and contracting steadily until it hit its peak, and she pushed with all of her strength. Then it stopped, picking up momentum again and the pain…the pain…Hope…

Faith gripped the sheets, moaning through clenched teeth. The pain returned, and she could see the interesting crack on the ceiling suddenly copy itself into three identical cracks as the pain grew and grew, until they merged back into one again. Then everything would start to slow down again, and then there was only the breath of life and the promise of Hope. Then suffering again as Hope struggled in her prison…

* * *

_I wait on the mirror's edge, peering into the sky. The helicopter is looming…it is a police helicopter, but the green lights in the window tell me that it is one of our number. It hovers over the green light beacon, dropping down a rope, and seven people drop down, heavily armed with Blue weapons and Blue training, but bearing our mark. The fruits of our infiltration._

_They toss me a new runner's bag, this one full of pistol magazines. I must survive, for radio and electronic communications would be intercepted by the enemy. Our intersquad communication would rely once again on the Runners. We enter the building to take it from the top down, examining each room to make sure it is clear of the enemy and all enemy materials. Servers are destroyed, their machines of propaganda destroyed, the image of them destroyed._

_The first half is a piece of cake. The Blues could not reinforce that fast. They want to lure us to where their numbers would overwhelm us. And it is working. We boldly confront them, knowing that the lack of bold confrontation caused the corruption of the city in the first place._

_We hear an enemy squad approaching on the ninth floor, and we take cover behind the cubicles. Now they are in our trap. They split up. As one of the soldiers walk past the cubicle I am in, I grab him, covering his mouth, and plunge a knife straight into his neck. He dies instantly and silently. Soon the sounds of their walking are gone, and I know our squad has done the same to the rest.

* * *

_

How many hours had passed in agony? Faith did not know. She wished her baby was more obedient, that her baby knew the pain of her mother before it was too late, as Faith had all those years. But no pain, no suffering could cause her to hate her baby. Forget that her baby was only half of her own, and half of a complete stranger. Forget that this baby was the reason she disobeyed her mother's final will. Forget that this baby had stranded her from a movement she ought to have lead, she could not hate it.

She marveled as well on how her mind could wander now. The pain seemed to recede as the labor went on until it was a throb. A massive, undulating, smarting throb, but a throb. Then everything seemed to pause, and all was clear. A pause in the action finally. It was the end of the first stage, Faith thought.

Faith looked out the window for the first time since the start of her labor, and saw clumps of helicopters flying about. So many Blue helicopters…surely all resistance was crushed. As soon as she thought that, Hope reminded her of her presence again, and the contractions came again. But this time, there seemed to be progress…something was slipping of a womb, to see the light of day for the first time. Faith's intuition had been correct. Hope was a girl.

* * *

_The building fell much easier than we expected. The resistance we met on the final, ground floor, was heavy but not overpowering. Still, we have sustained a casualty, and we have yet to fight to the final plaza. Stepping out, we find ourselves in hell itself. Fire and craters everywhere. Bursts of gunfire and explosions ring out amid the rain, for the thunder has stopped._

_We run as fast as we can towards the center of the city. It shall be ours. As we pass by the nearest intersection, however, a tank comes out of nowhere and fires its main cannon. The shaped charge explodes dangerously near. My ears ring, my vision blacks out for the quickest instant and blurs, and I am on my stomach. I look back and see fire and the body parts of my comrades strewn about and cleansed under the rain. _

_The tank lumbers over, and I collapse, pretending I am dead. My head is at an angle where I can see behind me though, and through slitted eyes I see the hatch open. A man in a gas mask comes out. He has probably noticed my Runner attire. From the depths of the tank he pulls a compact submachine gun out, pulling back the bolt. He aims at me, and I close my eyes to see my comrades again._

_But the vision does not come. I hear a dreadful scream, and I see that the man is on fire! Before I put two and two together she runs to me. Joy, my angel, has saved me once again. Her flaxen hair is dark with the damp, and her slim white hands quickly feel at my neck for a pulse. She smells faintly of gasoline, perhaps from the Molotov cocktail she threw at the tank. Her touch gives me the strength…I grasp her arm and turn around._

"_Joy…_ "

"_Corin, you're all right."_

_Her squad joins her. I know I must join them. With all my will and with the new adrenaline in me, I get up and reload my pistol. We move._

_There are barricades in the way, but with Joy and her squad at my side they crumble before our assault. The plaza is one block away, and now we see it, and I am reminded of a crowd years ago that gathered here, who dared to challenge the corruption around us and fled weaponless. Now those people are back with new blood, and this time we are the masters of ourselves and of each other._

_There is a makeshift stage, an abandoned tank, and a man stands on that tank. He is November, our leader. None of us have seen his face, but we know it. A drizzle now. He raises his hands, and all are silent. He utters our final command:_

"_Tell Faith she is alive!"_

_This is our last command as the Runner, the secret command written in the darkest, highest corners. I run, side by side, next to Joy, and my heart and body leaps. As one of the last to come, we are to be the first. Our destination is not far. We charge through the apartment door, then clamber up the steps. _

_One…_

_Two…_

_Three…_

_Four…_

_Five…_

_Six…_

_Seven…_

_Eight…_

_Nine…_

_Ten…_

_Eleven…_

_Twelve…_

_**Thirteen**. Down the hall, and then in our excitement we kick the door down. Joy and I notice that we have been holding hands the entire time. Before us is a sight of wonder that I will never forget._

_The bed is splashed with bloodstains and littered with pieces of flesh and afterbirth. The sheets have been practically torn. The light of the sun piercing through the rain comes as a sliver through the open window with its flapping curtains and falls on a woman. The woman is naked, with skin that is pure white, all except the black tattoos on her arm and the trickles of blood. In that tattooed arm she cradles her baby, who suckles at her breast._

_Behind us there is a clamor of running feet, and we feel them stopping behind us. The woman turns her head back and glances at us, still feeding her baby, then looks back out. She knows our mission, and gives her reply._

"_Tell November that Hope is born." _


End file.
